


AU Meme

by manicr



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic), Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicr/pseuds/manicr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daken/Bullseye AUs with bonus Bullseye/Deadpool</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ballet (Daken)

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Daken/Bullseye in art school  
> warnings: disturbing imagery, mental health issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Daken, 3 (I'd prefer ballet, but anything's fine :3 )
> 
> 3: Ballet, tap, interpretive, modern, some kind of dance AU (professional dance, dance classes, high school dances, burlesque or stripper AUs, anything as long as dance is involved somehow)

Daken limbered up, eyes intently set on the stage and the dancing ballerinas, it was soon his time to make his grand entrance. He scoffed at Sofen when she moves off her mark with a good foot. Romanova was excellent as always, but that’s what you get when you have some Russian training, which was the reason she has the lead role in their collaboration — much to Sofen’s chagrin. She was agreeable to work with in that sense.

Romanova _appreciated_ perfection.

He doesn’t need to think as he entered the stage, the lights are on him (he would kill Gargan if he messed up with the lighting again) and he moves flawlessly to the music and his steps. Romanova played her part, he played his. The dance is all that mattered.

The stage goes dark and the applauds are deafening. As they should be.

As they take their bow, Daken can feel the audience eyes on him; he basked in it. He pretended that he can see Osborn and Stark clap and glare resentfully at each other, both claiming the credit for the success. The thought warmed his heart. He does not look in the direction of one of the left-side boxes, he could swear that he heard a familiar voice say ‘bravo’; his smile faltered briefly before he had his mask firmly in place again.

Backstage, life continues as usual, bickering and jibes at the slightest mistake or who did it better are the familiar ambiance that he lives with. Everyone is working off their post performance jitters. Daken flashed smiles to select dancers or crew, avoided Ms. Hand and her clipboard, and made sure to whisper both praise and criticism in unsuspecting ears. He’ll _console_ Sofen later over being sidelined. Now it was he who deserved some _attention_.

Tomorrow was another performance. It wouldn’t to to have _pent up_ stress over it.


	2. Landlord (Daken/Bullseye, Daken/Marcus Roston)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Bullseye/Daken fic where one is the other's landlord/apartment manager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: drug use, abuse, suicide, blood

"I gotta ask you - not that it matters - but why the _fuck_ is a guy like you renting a place like this?” Lester asked and stared quizzically at his new tenant, while counting the rent which the hipster fuck at hand had given him three months in advance. He was obviously well off, and the place was a dump.

"Is it some kind of hipster cred statement? Gonna have all your wannabe art buddies turning up here and taking pictures of the cockroaches?" he continued and eyed the stupid mohawk, tattoo and overly accessorized clothes; hat, big useless glasses, scarf, tie, leather bracelets, suspenders _and_ belt like his pants needed that much to keep them up, and just _all the useless shit_ he was wearing. The sneer on his face just grew with every detail.

"Just wanted a low down place," the guy responded, unconcerned by seemingly everything. Lester was pretty sure that the name he’d given was fake, seriously " _Daken_ ”, but he didn’t care. No one bothered him about his tenants, considering the neighborhood, and he didn’t bother them unless it was to get paid.

"Yeah right. Anyhow, you’re in the right place for that. Don’t fucking bring me any trouble," Lester shrugged and sneered.

"I doubt I will. But now I know who to go to at least," he replied serenely and winked at him. Fucking faggot. Lester left without a word.

Lester didn’t see much of his most recent tenant the first months — he’d expected to get the usual complaints and questions but there hadn’t been a peep. The rent turned up in an envelope at his own apartment. Though he did hear through the grapevine that he had many late night visitors, of both genders, who are always gone by morning.

Regardless, he was happy to forget this “Daken” until the day that Fred Myers kicked at his door, telling him to get whoever was arguing on the second floor to shut the fuck up. After telling Boomer off for being a pussy and not telling them himself, Lester went down stairs to kick ass if necessary. He could hear the shouting and noise.

"—you gonna keep running—"

"—it’s none of your business—"

As he got down to the second floor all he caught sight of was a short man storming off from Daken’s apartment, slamming the door behind him. Lester had half a heart just to give a fuck and leave since it was all over now, but he was curious. He kicked at Daken’s door.

"It’s the manager, asshole," he announced himself. The door opened but Daken was already turning away as he walked in. Hipster fuck looked less hipster today, just jeans and a tank. His tat was bigger than Lester had expected, covering his entire arm and what he could see of his back and left side.

"What do you want? I’ve paid up," Daken asked and fiddled with the coffee machine, back turned to him.

"You were bothering the other tenants. I don’t fucking care, but keep it a bit quieter next time."

"Fine," Daken said and looked up, coffee cup in hand. The right side of his face was swelling up and he had a cut on his lip. Lester barely batted an eye, Daken had the kind of face and attitude that begged to be beat up. But he was curious.

"Lover’s spat?" He grinned.

"A family disagreement," Daken corrected.

"So you holed up here to hide from your old man? Guess that didn’t work out as planned," Lester continued, intrigued by whatever drama had gone down.

"Not from _him_ ,” Daken shrugged and sipped his coffee, wincing a bit at the cut on his lip.

"Gonna drag in the cops?" he asked, considering what other shit was going down in his building. He was pretty sure Boomer was involved with the Russian mob (or at least some creepy fuck called Dmitri), that Neena had something to do with guns, and that three others were either on or selling drugs. And that was without considering Wade, who was just fucking crazy.

"Nah. No worry. I gave as good as I got," Daken said and winked at him. Lester sneered, crossing his arms.

He left with a shake of his head and a dismissive wave. Daken kept up with the winking, smiling and general flirtation every time they met after that but Lester didn’t waste any time on him.

The third time he ended up _really_ talking with Daken was when Neena complained about hearing “weird” noises and shouting, and after she assured him that it _probably_ wasn’t sex related, he went and kicked at Daken’s door again. This time the fuckhead didn’t answer and he had to use the master key to get in.

The blood on the floor was a bit of a surprise.

Not the first time he’d walked into some shit, Lester grabbed his cell and was ready to either bolt or fight pending on what he found. He followed the smears and the dribble to the kitchen and found Daken sitting on the floor, leaning against the cabinets, with his life draining out of his sliced arms. He was still alive.

Cursing his rotten luck, Lester dialed 911 and applied pressure on Daken’s arms with a kitchen towel. He quickly and calmly reported what he knew and remained by Daken’s side, trying to keep him from dying. Dead tenants were bad for business. Too many cops poking at things.

"Stupid shithead, I told you not to bring me any trouble. Coulda killed yourself somewhere else," he cursed. Daken’s eyes fluttered open and his pupils we’re oddly blown. Had the fuckhead tried drugs first?

"Didn’t. I didn’t… do this," Daken told him and tried to stay awake.

"Aw shit," Lester sighed and hoped that the ambulance would be there soon.

"Marcus… I _left_ him. I got clean. He didn’t take it too well,” Daken slurred and started to laugh. “Guess doing time didn’t make it better.” His eyelids fluttered and he seemed to lose it for a moment.

"Stay awake," Lester growled. Daken looked up at him and smiled.

"You’re handsome. I like your eyes, have I told you that?" Daken said and Lester could finally hear sirens. 

"Thanks. Any moment now, fuckhead. Just hang on."

"If I live, wanna go on a date?" Daken asked like he wasn’t too concerned about the prospect of dying. Must have been the drugs and the blood loss.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Lester replied automatically before he even realized what he had said. Fuck it anyhow, hipster fuck was probably goners anyhow. Just then the EMTs burst in and Lester shouted at them to get in the kitchen and to take over.

"Gonna hold you to that," Daken told him as they carted him out. Crazy fucker.

Lester on the other hand was first interviewed by the EMTs, then the cops, and then his tenants. Both Wade _and_ Boomer had thrown a fit. It was well into the night that he was finally freed from _people_. He had been tempted to commit murder himself before the night was over. And he needed to turn up at the station the next day too.

It was nearly two weeks later that there was a kick on his door.

It was Daken. He was less hipster more GQ model, but there was bandages visible on his arms, and he was pale and drawn.

"My notice, I’m moving out. Also, you owe me a date," he announced as Lester stared at him.

"You’re alive."

"Yeah."

"You’re an asshole, you know that? I’ve had the cops crawling up my ass for weeks because of you. And not a fucking word from you."

"You seem to be doing fine." Daken shrugged and paused. "Thank you."

"Whatever. You owe me."

"I know a fantastic restaurant. _Chez Panisse_. I’ll pay. You saved my life after all.”

"You better."


	3. Office (Bullseye/Deadpool)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Deadpool/Bullseye 32+21
> 
> 32: Trans, genderqueer, nonbinary interpretations AU (pick an additional number for the setting, e.g. “32+2” for trans characters in an art school AU. NOTE: do feel free to make the characters trans and/or nonbinary without needing to have it specified, but definitely write trans and/or enby interpretations for this prompt)
> 
> 21: Office job AU (hilarious shenanigans optional but encouraged)

"Wilson, you pissy shit. You’re late," Lester groused, rolling back on his seat, as Wilson finally walked in. "Normie had a "meet" and chewed us out on lack of synergy and people wasting their time on facebook. As if he ever does anything."

"He should waste some time online and check out a new hair style," Wilson quipped, sitting down at the cubicle.

"Talking hair. Nice. You’re better as a red head," Lester remarked, taking a good look at the long red curls, before turning back to his screen.

"Eh, felt like it," Wilson replied with a shrug and checked the screen over his shoulder. "That looks fun. Spread sheets."

"Normie has us checking for "problems". I’m guessing an audit has been mentioned by some little birdie," Lester said, bored to death just talking about it. Oscorp was a financial giant with its fair share of skeletons and scandals, it could afford it, but according to Normie the bad PR was worse than the fines. "Check with Mackie, he’ll give you the low down on the technical stuff if you need a refresher."

"Mac’s a freak. Also he’s totally jealousy of my Extreme Makeover," Wilson grinned, hiding her discomfort with jokes.

"Yeah. You totally got better legs than him," Lester quipped and highlighted a suspicious transaction. "You should totally do something if he gives you trouble. I can help. Like set something on fire. Or glue. Glue is good. Did I tell you about the time that I put glue in Daken’s hair gel? Fucking hilarious."

"Thanks, Bullcookie. But I’d like to keep my job," Wllson said with a grin, cheered up. 

"Ain’t a thing, Wilson. I’ll punch him for you any time," Lester said and found another transaction that would have said a bit too much about the escort services their boss preferred. "Then again, I just like punching Mackie. So don’t read anything into it."

"Won’t tell him that you have the hots for me," Wilson grinned and went to her own stickers and action figure covered computer.

"Damn straight!" Lester hollered at her.

"Like _a damn corkscrew!”_ she returned before they both got glared down by Bob, who was doing his manager duties in his usual creeptastic fashion of turning up when you least expected him.

“ _Hey_ , Lester,” Karla greeted him and dumped a thick manila envelope on his desk. “How’s things?”

"Shit as usual," he replied, happy for the interruption if not for the mysterious envelope.

"You doing to the office party next week?" she wondered and planted her gorgeous ass on his desk too.

"Dunno. Maybe."

"I will. It’s good for office relations and career advancement." Karla told him in that "good doctor" bedside manner of hers. "It’d be more fun if there was company though. It’s always nice to have a handsome man on one’s arm."

"Uh-huh. You asking me out?" Lester asked with a loop-sided grin.

"Depends on if you think you can handle it. The right manners matter," Karla purred and Lester’s the office politics alarm went off like a siren.

"Yeah, about that. I don’t think so."

"Of cou— what? You think you can do better?" Karla said, surprised.

"WILSON! Wanna go to next week’s party with me?" Lester hollered while holding eye contact with Karla.

"Sure!" she hollered back at him without hesitation.

"See? Gotta date," Lester said. "I don’t _do_ politics, Karla. Go ask Daken. He’ll probably say ‘yes’ if you hurry.”

"Have fun with Wade," Karla spat and flounced away.

"I will, and it's Wanda, by the way!" Lester said and watched her go. He peeked at the content of the envelope and then slammed his face on his desk. More suspicious paperwork. Sometimes he hated being a troubleshooter. He’d like an actual gun to shoot with. He’d start with Normie.

"Hi ya, buddy," Wilson said, having walked up to him again now that Bob was out of sight again. "You alright?"

"I’m great," he mumbled into the desk.

"Need help with that?" she asked nervously.

"I’m golden."

"Okay."

"I’ll pick you up, Wilson. I like the green and gold dress -- if you don’t know what to wear," Lester told her after a pause, thinking that it might be good to say something.

"As if I’d take fashion advice from you, Rookie," she laughed.

"Just sayin’, fuckhead."

"You know—- thanks."

"I hate sentimentality. Go away before it becomes contagious! No touching either!"

"Aaah, cooties!"

"Go fuck yourself!"

She wore the dress at the party, regardless.


	4. Punk and Hipster (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: PUNK AND HIPSTER AU GIMME BULLSEYE IN A MINOR THREAT TSHIRT DO IT DO IT

"God, you’re such a piece of hipster trash," Bullseye said, lighting his cigarette and shoving the crinkled pack back into his worn jeans. Dragging in the smoke deep, he blew it straight in Daken’s face. Daken’s nose crinkled, he waved the smoke away and smacked at Bullseye’s shaved head.

"I have a modicum of taste, you mean, Lester." Daken said, snorting indignantly and pushing back errant hairs into his back combed mohawk. He raised an eyebrow and sneered at Bullseye’s band t-shirt demonstratively.

"Don’t fuckin’ call me that, faggot. Also, _Minor Threat_ is awesome. Much better than whatever ‘you’ve never heard of it’ trash you listen to. Fuck you wearing anyhow? You look like you’re in your old man’s clothes. I knew you had daddy issues but that’s just kinky,” Bullseye laughed, avoiding the inevitable smack.

"Whatever. Are you coming with me or not?" Daken repeated his earlier question.

"To a fucking art gallery? I like art, fuckhead, but I know your type of shit. Full of champaign and girls with fake glasses and jerkoffs who talk about fucking avante garde without ever having dared to think an original thought." Bullseye said and dragged in more smoke to calm himself. "Petty little shits who wouldn’t know Picasso from Braque."

"For a braindead punk you’re such an art critic, darling. We can mock them together. It’ll be fun," Daken remarked with a smirk, leaning into Bullseye’s personal space.

"I’ll bring paint and a carpet knife," Bullseye said, leaning back.

"It’ll be an improvement, I’m certain. But I’d rather not be arrested."

"Might do you some good."

"You just want to be locked up with me."

"Shut your mouth, fag."

"Make me."

"Sure," Bullseye kissed him.


	5. Runaway (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: running away from home and finding each other au bullseye/daken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: underage sex, child abuse

Akihiro sat at the bus stop and waited for the next greyhound out of town, he’d packed and planned things out exactly, the ticket in his pocket enough to get him to New York. He was getting out. Soon, he’d be of the country too — he’d go _home_. Back to Japan. He’d move to Tokyo and become something, _someone,_ who mattered rather than just an army brat.

He thought about all the possibilities, he thought about _making it big_. He hadn’t been accepted in the US or in Japan but Japan felt like _home_ and he’d _make_ them accept him once he was rich and famous. He was smart. He was strong enough.

Clutching his ticket and bag, Akihiro repeated this to himself. His mind countered with the childhood taunt of ‘daken’, mongrel, a half-breed mutt. He steeled himself and accepted it. He was _Daken_. He’d own it, so no one could hurt him with it.

"Move it, fuckface." Came a gruff voice and Daken was torn out of his thoughts, looking up at a boy his age, seventeen at most. He looked like a wannabe neo-nazi with his punk clothes, bruises and shaved head.

"I was sitting here first," Daken spat, he ha no intention of being pushed around by some asshole. If the worst came to it, he had a knife. He wasn’t stupid.

"Yeah, whatever, man. Just make some fucking space, will you? I’m not gonna stand here until the damn buss comes." The boy replied making Daken startle, he _had_ been taking up the entire bench with his stuff. Sheepishly, he put them on the ground, between his feet. The boy sat down with a relieved sigh, shifting his weight restlessly.

They were quiet for awhile, it was a comfortable silence and Daken started to study the other boys face from the corner of his eye. He was kinda cute, now that he didn’t seem to be a nazi, with his big blue eyes and slightly pouty lips. The bruising on his face was old, and there was a little cut through his eyebrow that kinda suited him. He didn’t seem to have anything with him, which made Daken speculate on where he was going, perhaps he lived in NY and had someone who was going to pick him up.

"Dude, stop fucking staring at me. It’s annoying." The boy huffed and gave him a glare. Daken looked away slightly but then looked back, cocking his head.

"What’s your name?"

"None of your fucking business."

"I’m… Daken. I’m heading to New York. Where are you going, none-of-your-fucking-business?"

"Heh, same. You’re a bit funny. Call me Bullseye. I don’t do names."

"Pleasure."

"So you’re running away from home, _Daken_?”

"What makes you think that?"

"You fucking look it, idiot. You’re just shouting it out with your bag and the way you keep looking out for whomever you think is coming after you. Just chill. Don’t look nervous. Makes you a fucking target."

"And you know this how?"

"I’ve run away several times, for months at the time. Sometimes the cops dragged me home, sometimes I went back because I didn’t have anywhere to go. This time I’m just gonna make it stick. Why you running? Daddy and Mommy don’t love you enough?"

"Fuck you. You don’t know shit!"

"My old man beats the crap out of me. What’s your excuse?"

"…I don’t belong here. I _hate_ it here. Small town bullshit with all their racist and homophobic god bothering, ignorant hillbillies the lot of them, mindless sheep and pointless drivel. Dad doesn’t have to deal with it and just tells me to fit in, figure that he decided to settle in the most backwater town ever. Fucking hypocrite egotist.”

"Ha. So, you are a fucking faggot too. Should have guessed with the way you stared at me like you wanted to ride my dick. Sorry, but that ride is _closed_. But I like you. You smoke?” Bullseye asked with a lopsided grin, and Daken knew that he should feel insulted by everything that left his lips but it just made him laugh. He was pretty sure that this Bullseye was fucked in the head. He shook his head, Bullseye shrugged in reply and scratched the back of his head.

"Figures."

They settled in a  comfortable silence again until the Greyhound rolled in, they both boarded and Daken was slightly surprised when Bullseye slouched down next to him.

"It’s a long ride." Was all the explanation he gave, and Daken felt much more comfortable with the whole running away business with his company.

His Dad might look for him, but it would probably take days before he noticed considering how much he drank and worked. He’d be long gone by then, and Bullseye could probably teach him how to make it until he had the money to leave the country. Not that he cared if the other boy did or didn’t.

"Stop making googly eyes at me, take a fucking nap or something, fuckhead." Bullseye grunted and pulled out a pair of headphones that fitted snugly over his head.

Maybe he cared a little bit.

On the next rest stop, Bullseye had a beer and Daken blew him in the restroom before the went back and took their seats again. They didn’t talk about it but Bullseye let him rest against his shoulder for a few hours.

Arriving in the buss terminal in the city late that night, Daken was left staring out into the crowd and for the first time since he planned his escape, he felt lost. Looking around he saw, Bullseye get a pack of cigarettes and ask for a light from a stranger. Their eyes caught.

Daken’s mouth felt dry and he hesitated, he had planned to sleep in a hostel that he’d looked up on the net. I didn’t feel as a great idea anymore.

"Fuck it. Come with me, I know a place." Bullseye said with a sigh and waved at him to follow. Embarrassed yet relived, he followed.

"Just wipe that puppy dog look off your face, idiot." Bullseye grumbled.

"It worked didn’t it," Daken teased, the banter coming naturally. He dodged the elbow that aimed at his ribs and deliberately collided into the other boy’s shoulder. Bullseye pushed him back and laughed. Daken decided that he really liked his laugh, and admitted to himself that he might be having a slight crush. They walked into the bright night together and Daken finally felt like he was free.


	6. Highschool (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: daken/bullseye highschool AU where they meet in a hospital (i was thinking daken injured in a school fight and bullseye domestic violence or something?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: implied domestic abuse, homophobia

"It’s fine— please. Thank _so_ much,” Akihiro thanked to the nurse helping him to his room, flirting with the woman for good measure. He was scheduled for a CAT scan, as they feared more excessive head trauma, and a 24 hour overview. Akihiro doubted it himself, he’d only lost consciousness briefly. The bastard had kicked him down the stairs like it was _his_ fault that the sad prick couldn’t keep his girlfriend.

Anyhow, until then he’d have to wait like a good boy. His Dad was throwing enough of a fit as it was — torn between anger that someone had hurt him, and blaming him for bringing it upon himself. Akihiro could just _feel_ the love. Goddamn sanctimonious Neanderthal. At least he’d had to go back to work briefly so that Akihiro wouldn’t be smothered by his constant hovering. But as it was now, he was quickly getting very bored. And this was _despite_ the happy-fun drugs they had given him. Luckily, it turned out that he had a room mate for his indeterminate stay in the bed next him. He looked his age, _possibly_ younger but it wasn’t likely, not with those strong features. He was rather handsome actually - big blue eyes, full lips, and close-cut blond hair - if you discounted the fact that a third of his face was cut up, bruised and swollen. He looked like someone had taken a bottle to his face.

"Fuck you staring at, fucker?" his room mate snarled, Akihiro realized he’d been staring.

"No offense. I’m just bored — you seem like an interesting person," Akihiro replied easily, smiling and shrugging.

"Well, you interest me about as much as a hole in the head," he spat.

"It seems that you’ve had enough of those," Akihiro said and smiled. "I’m Akihiro. We might go to the same school—"

"Doubt it," the blond sneered, "as I don’t go to school."

"You’re a drop out?" Akihiro blurted out. _Real_ _smooth_ , he berated himself, it was just the the drugs seemed to kill what little filters he had.

"Well, fuck you too, Mr. Smarty pants. You think you’re better than me?" Blondie snarled, glaring at him.

"Yes. Undoubtedly. Then again I feel that way about 99% of the population," Akihiro retorted, "at least you’re nice to look at from the right angle." He followed this up with cocking his head and pointedly giving him a once over and grinning.

"Fucking faggot shithead. I’ll fucking punch your teeth out," Blondie fumed and moved to leave his bed. As his bare feet touched the ground and he tried to put any weight on them, Blondie hissed in pain and fell back into his bed. Akihiro could see more bruising along his legs and feet but Akihiro doubted that they were the source of his pain; the conspicuous bandaging high up seemed to hide the real reason. The mystery thickens.

"Take it easy, no need to get riled up by little o’ me," Akihiro said, making half an attempt at placating Blondie. The desire to tease him had left him as he’d seen he extent of his injuries. "Now, please, could I have a name? Calling you Blondie makes me feel like I’m addressing a dog. There’s a nazi joke there somewhere too and that’s just _sad_.”

"Are you retarded or something?" Blondie grunted, staring at him incredulously.

"I’m guessing ‘or something’ is my only choice," Akihiro sighed, "But please, let’s observe the niceties."

"Do you always talk like that?" Blondie asked, calming down significantly.

"Only when it’s funny, and I’m high on drugs," Akihiro smirked, "and I like the way it makes your nose scrunch up."

"—Lester. Happy now?" Lester muttered and his nose did indeed scrunch up once more. It was _cute_.

"Charmed," Akihiro replied drily but followed it up with a dirty smirk. Lester glanced at him and scoffed, thought about it and then chuckled.

"You’re not half bad. I’m pretty sure you’re nuts, but you’re funny," Lester conceded and chuckled again, wincing and hissing at his bruises.

"And you’re staving off my boredom, so there’s always that. You cannot _believe_ how bored I’ve been,” Akihiro sighed.

"Try being stuck here for days at end," Lester grimaced. "—fucking bills are gonna kill me."

"You live alone?" Akihiro wondered.

"Kinda. The old man is there, some times," Lester said and his face shut off completely. It was a cold satisfaction to Akihiro as this final piece of the puzzle fell into place - he curbed the urge to air his deduction. He didn’t need to be proven right — immediately. He was a people person after all.

"I live with my father as well: he’s a mother hen crossed with a drill Sargent. You might have heard him shouting incoherently at the doctor earlier. Well, that’s what I get for having a former Marine as a single dad. Sister has it so much easier, she lives with _her_ mother half the time,” Akihiro rambled, deliberately taking the conversation away from sore spots.

"I thought I heard _something_ ,” Lester grinned cautiously.

"Yes, he’s hopeless. No manners, just overbearing morals," Akihiro complained. "I suffer daily. Let me cry on your shoulder."

Lester laughed at his commentary, and Akihiro decided that he liked his laugh. Besides, it’s not like he was seeing anyone at the moment. Karla wasn’t exactly the type to stick around. He didn’t blame her. Though Barton _would_ get his when he got back to school. Also, it would tick off his Dad royally.

"No then? May I have your number instead?" Akihiro flirted and Lester seemed to be struggling with himself whether to be angry or pleased. Akihiro had an impeccable gaydar and Lester here seemed like a text book case of a closet case - and it wasn’t the first time he’d won one of _those_ over. Though the usual locker room blow jobs weren’t quite what he wanted with this one.

"You kidding me?" Lester spluttered.

"Don’t fight your feelings. I know I’m not," Akihiro quipped and grinned.

"Your a little crazy, you know that?" Lester retorted.

"Obviously, I need more hugs," Akihiro continued with the same shit eating grin. Keeping Lester off his guard seemed to be doing the trick.

"I’ll seriously give you _something_ if you keep that up, Akihiro,” Lester threatened jokingly. The conversation conditioned much more smoothly after this and by the time the nurse came to pick him up, Akihiro was in a good mood. His mood even survived contact with his Dad and the tediousness of the CAT scan.

When he was returned to his room it was empty. However, on the dresser there was a note with a phone number.

"You’re happy," his Dad commented gruffly.

"I made a new _friend_ , Daddy,” Akihiro said and gave him his best smile.

"Why do I have a horrible feeling about that?"

"Because you’re paranoid and distrustful, Daddy"

"Mind it, kid."

"I’m injured! I can’t be held accountable."

"C’mere! Off to bed you go!"

"You’re _not_ lifting me—! Oh no _no-no-no_.”

"G’night, kid. I’ll pick you up in the morning."

"Tch, night, old man."


	7. Kids (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Kid!Lester annoys Kid!Daken, who then gets his revenge. No powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: implied child abuse

"Hey, new kid!" Lester shouted at the boy who was sitting in the tree. He’d seen him, his father and sister move in last week but this was the first time he’d had an opportunity to talk to him.

The boy stared down at him, scoffed and then ignored him. He was wearing new brand clothes and Lester felt defensive about his tattered jeans and worn t-shirt.

"Hey, shit for brains. I’m talking to you," Lester said and picked up a pebble — the boy ignored him again. Lester threw the pebble at him, hitting bull’s eye, right on his head, nearly making the boy fall out of the tree in surprise with a high pitched yelp of pain.

“ _Kusoyaro_ —! I’ll get you for that!” the boy cried out and glared daggers at him, scrambling to keep his footing. His dark hair falling over his flushed face, and Lester realized that he was pretty like a girl. He flushed. But the boy had insulted him — didn’t know what it meant but he was sure it wasn’t nice.

"I’d like to see that, girly boy!" Lester laughed defiantly and stuck his tongue out. He ran away when he heard that the boy’s father called out to him.

“ _Akihiro_ , _dinner_!” He looked scary and Lester didn’t want to pick a fight with _him_. He looked like a badass - like a biker or one of his old man’s army friends - even though he _was_ short. Akihiro’s dad looked like he ate _nails_ for dinner.

Lester didn’t see Akihiro until the next week, even though he did try to keep an eye out for him, and that was only when he was tripped face first into a puddle of mud. Confused and embarrassed, he looked around to see the tripping wire and the other boy laughing at him. Tears stung at his eyes and he was two seconds from beating Akihiro’s ass when something impossible happened.

"Truce?" Akihiro offered with a raised eyebrow, hand outstretched to help him up. Lester stared at his hand in confusion, but then he smiled and took it. Just as the other boy started to help him up, Lester tripped the both of them into the mud. Akihiro fell with a hilarious look on his face and spluttered incoherently at him. Moments later, he pounced him and they wrestled in the mud. Akihiro was stronger than he looked and knew how to fight, but Lester was bigger and he fought dirty. It was fun to fight him and Lester was laughing. The other boy was soon laughing as well.

"Truce?" Lester asked once he stopped laughing.

"Yeah, truce," Akihiro said, giggling at him and throwing a a bit of mud.

"I’m Lester," he replied and threw mud back at the other boy.

"I am Akihiro Howlett," the boy said proudly and smeared mud on Lester’s chest.

"I know," Lester replied and flushed despite himself, and returned the favor with his own mud cake.

"You’re cute. I like you. Let’s go play at my house," Akihiro declared and stood up, pulling him up with him.

"W-what?" Lester stammered, jaw dropping. "I’m not—"

"You’re _my_ friend now, come,” Akihiro said like it was the most naturally thing in the world and dragged him along. Stunned, Lester let himself be pulled along by the hand.

"Won’t your dad be mad?" Lester asked as Akihiro dragged him inside, muddy as they both were.

"Daddy _says_ I should play outside and that I should make friends. It’s not my fault if I do as _he_ says,” Akihiro said and stuck his chin out.

A dark haired girl, younger than the both of them, came up to them when they were going up the stairs.

"Can I play with you?" she asked and Akihiro stuck his tongue out at her.

"No. Lester is _my_ friend, Laura,” Akihiro replied and ran up the stairs, still holding Lester’s hand.

"I’ll tell Dad!" Laura shouted after them.

"Daddy’s girl!" Akihiro countered and slammed the door shut behind them.

"She’s such a bother. She’s my _half_ -sister, you see,” Akihiro explained and got out of his dirty clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, pulling on fresh ones. “Wanna borrow?”

"Err… no thanks," Lester replied, bothered by Akihiro’s casual nudity and suddenly very aware of his own state.

"Oh, put it on. You _smell_. Here, this one, it’s too big for me,” Akihiro ordered and handed him a black t-shirt. It had the Punisher logo on it and it was _really_ cool. Quickly, Lester changed. Akihiro must have seen his scars and bruises, but he didn’t say anything. However, the t-shirt fitted him perfectly and now _he_ looked really cool.

"Keep it. I don’t like it on me," Akihiro declared and Lester already recognized it as his "you won’t change my mind" voice.

"Thanks," Lester replied in a small voice and decided that it might be fun to be Akihiro’s friend.


End file.
